She did the same. “How am I to try all this without becoming frightfully inebriated? I have never been even a little bit drunk, but I hear the aftereffects can be most unpleasant.”
“That is true. The first time I overimbibed, I was at Oxford. I couldn’t hold my head up straight or keep food in my stomach for two days.”
Again, her eyes rounded. It seemed he couldn’t help but shock her repeatedly today. “I can’t believe you would do that.”
“It was many years ago, but yes. I haven’t thought of that in a very long time.” He sipped the claret and set the glass down. “If you take very small samples and nibble as you go along, you should be fine. The white wines have a lower alcohol content while the fortified wines in the back row have more.”
“I see. Perhaps I won’t even finish those. Or I will barely wet my lips with them.”
Suddenly he was staring at her mouth, wishing he could wet her lips with his tongue. He took another drink of the claret. “Ah, what did you think of that one?”
“It was nice, I suppose. I should probably try the next one so that I have something to compare it to.” She sampled the second glass, and Constantine did the same.
“Clarets are a blend of different grapes from the Burgundy region of France. The first two have been in the cellar for some time, but the third one, I admit, was smuggled last year.”
She gave him a sly look. “I never would have guessed you would purchase smuggled wine. You are so very proper.”
“Occasionally, I allow myself to indulge.” He winked at her and couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so. Had he ever winked at anyone before?
“This must be a very good wine.” She plucked up the third glass and sipped. “Oh, that is lovely. I would describe it as velvety. It’s very soft against my tongue.”
Did she have any idea what her words were doing to him? He was half-erect already. Shifting in his chair, he took a drink, already knowing it was his favorite of the three reds. “Velvety is exactly the word I would use. I think we should have a few bites before we continue.”
“Allow me. But first, let me set this card aside.” She plucked up the third claret card and set it to the left of her place so that it was between them. Standing, she put together two plates of the various foods.
Constantine continued to take pleasure in watching her. This simple task she performed was incredibly domestic and somehow also incredibly arousing. Perhaps he should stop looking at her backside as she bent over the table. “I wanted to tell you that my father has agreed to allow you to assume the responsibilities of sponsor for my sister.”
Sabrina dropped a wedge of apple on the tablecloth, her gaze snapping to Constantine’s. “He did?”
“Aren’t you pleased?” He couldn’t tell, particularly since her eyes had darkened with what he thought was fear.
“I am, though I confess I am astonished that he agreed. I expected him to refuse.” She picked up the apple and put it on the plate before setting it in front of Constantine.
He wouldn’t tell her that he was also surprised or that he’d negotiated for it to happen. “The transition will take place Monday. In the meantime, you must call on Cassandra tomorrow to review her calendar and strategize.”
The fear he’d glimpsed a moment ago flashed back. She busied herself finishing her plate. “The strategy is with regard to finding a husband?”
“That is my father’s primary objective.” And perhaps his only one, at least as far as Cassandra was concerned. With Constantine, the duke had wanted him wed, but, more importantly, he wanted him ready for the dukedom and weighted with the necessary sense of propriety and duty. His goals for Lucien were less concrete. Indeed, Constantine wasn’t entirely sure what their father expected of his middle child.
What he did know, however, was that happiness or contentment didn’t seem to be of interest to their father.
Sabrina retook her seat and picked up a piece of white cheese. “I will do my best to ensure Cassandra is settled with due haste. To her satisfaction, of course.” She glanced toward him, her shoulders hunched, making her appear nervous.
“We are in agreement on that.” He wanted to allay her concerns. There was no use in asking if she truly wanted to take this on. It was too late. The commitment had been made, and to withdraw now would only irritate his father. It would also confirm his low expectations, and Constantine would move heaven and earth to ensure Sabrina exceeded them. “I’m afraid it will be challenging to support Cassandra in the way you must while also adhering to my father’s demands. We will all present a united front if trouble arises.”
Her shoulders straightened, and he hoped that meant she felt better. “What sort of trouble?”
He swallowed a bite of cheese. “In the event Cassandra doesn’t find anyone she wishes to marry this Season. I won’t let him force her, not like he and your parents did with us.”
Their eyes met, and in hers he saw gratitude and something else he couldn’t precisely define. Warmth spread through him, and he abruptly returned his attention to the wine. “There are three kinds of white wines—all hock, which is from Germany. The first one is the youngest and will be the least sweet. The next one is sweeter and the last is the sweetest of all. As I said, they have a lower level of alcohol. So if you like them, you could rest easy that you could drink it throughout dinner and not become inebriated.”
“No wonder so many ladies prefer it. I’ve tried it, of course, but I didn’t realize there was a variation in sweetness. I don’t know that I would have ever called it sweet based on my experience.”
“If you’ve only ever had them with meals, you would likely have had the less sweet version.” He smiled as he lifted the first of the hocks. “See what you think after you sample these.”
After trying the first glass, she seemed to think for a moment, her lips pursed. “I’m not sure I like that. Perhaps it is better with food.” She bit into an apple wedge. “That is preferable. In fact, I now think I’ve had this particular hock before at a dinner somewhere.”
“Speaking of dinner, the Brightlys have invited us to dine with them Wednesday evening. I hope you don’t mind, but I accepted. If you have a conflicting engagement—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish before she shook her head. “No, nothing. That sounds lovely. I so enjoy Mrs. Brightly.”
“The sentiment is mutual. She is quite looking forward to it, according to Brightly.” He finished the first glass of hock. “I suppose we should try to coordinate our social engagements.”
Her brow creased, which was a usual occurrence during their acquaintance, but less, he noticed, since she’d come to town. “Because of last night? I notice you haven’t asked me about the assembly.”
No, he hadn’t. In part, that was because he’d been too focused on what had happened later in the evening. “I should have done. Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did. The club is beautiful.”
Constantine didn’t tell her he’d harangued his brother for an invitation. She didn’t need to see the depth of his jealousy. The emotion reared its nasty head once more as he imagined her dancing beneath the sparkling chandeliers. He knew his brother had spared no expense with the club’s decoration, a fact that drove their father mad with fury.